


Time

by jackstanifold



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), dream team smp
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sad, Time Travel, TommyInnit gets a hug, and I'm going to give it to them, she/they pronouns for eret, these kids need therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackstanifold/pseuds/jackstanifold
Summary: the plan was simple. drink the potion, travel to the future, get intel, come back.this wasn't what they were expecting to find.(aka, s1 dream smp characters find out that the future is a lot more complicated than they thought it would be)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 67
Kudos: 519
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, this is literally the longest thing i've ever written, please gimme attention.
> 
> also! i use she/they pronouns for eret because i wanted to, and i'm sick of seeing people only use he/him.

The plan was simple. The five of them would drink the potions, traveling forward to 12 months in the future when the war was (hopefully) over, gathering any and all information they could, any strategies, plans, anything to help them defeat Dream. It wasn’t supposed to be hard. 

Dream’s plan was simple too. Eret had gotten him one of the potions the rebels were going to use. He was going to go forward too, to find anything they could use to defeat the bastards, and crush them into submission. Easy.

\---

Tommy had always wanted to be an adventurer like his big brother and dad. He’d grown up on stories of the Antarctic Empire, so he’d assumed when L’Manburg gained independence, he’d travel off with Tubbo to explore the world, living in a tent and hunting for food. He’d have a hot girlfriend, and have huge muscles

So when he appeared outside a tent, he wasn’t particularly shocked. The shit state of everything wasn’t concerning either, he had always been a bit of a slob. It wasn’t until he saw himself for the first time that it really occurred to him that something was wrong. 

Future him was slumped against a tree, staring off at the sunset with a blank look on his face. He walked over, standing over himself. Future him was scarily thin, his hair was long, and he was absolutely filthy. It looked almost like he had died, but then he looked up.

His eyes looked so much darker, like wells that had gotten too deep for light to illuminate them. He didn’t look particularly surprised to find his younger self there, just staring at him.

Finally, Tommy got uncomfortable, clearing his throat. “Uh… Hello. I’m you… from the past. Uh, I’m here to get… information. About the war.” After a pause he added. “The L’manburg war.” Another pause. “Against… Dream…”

Future Tommy sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” His voice sounded raw, like he’d been screaming for hours, and he flinched a bit at the sound, but he pushed himself up. “We won, by the way, heh. In case you’re wondering.”

He’d gotten taller, apparently, but his shoulders were hunched so much it was hard to tell. Not hunched in the normal “16 year old boy with anger issues” way, but hunched in the “trying not to be seen, trying to be inconspicuous'' way. It made Tommy a bit uncomfortable how he could tell the difference.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He blurted, his eyebrows furrowing at the withered husk of himself. The husk just stared back. “Why are you like this? You look like you gave up. You look like you’re alone, but that’s not- that’s not right. I-you- we aren’t ever alone? We have Wilbur, a-and Phil, and Tubbo-”

At the last name, a look of rage flashed on Future Tommy’s face, the first emotion to appear the whole conversation. “Don’t fucking mention that bastard in front of me, ever. Got it?”

Tommy blinked at him. “What? What do you mean, Tubbo’s our best friend?”

Future Tommy laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “We don’t have friends, Tommy. Everyone left us. All we have is Dream, and a fucking pumpkin on a stick, and sometimes, sometimes, when he’s bored enough-” He leaned in to speak directly into Tommy’s face. “Technoblade himself shows up to mock us.”

He leaned back, straightening up again. He seemed to tower over Tommy, but it might’ve just been the hate and anger in his eyes as he looked at his younger self that made the smaller boy feel that way. He was losing it. Tommy saw it in the trembling of his jaw, the way his eyes darted, the way his hands ran over his belt as if looking for a sword that wasn’t there. 

Tommy’s mouth opened, then closed, trying to think of something to say, but Future Tommy had other plans. He shook his head, holding up a hand. “No, this isn’t Tommy time. I have to put up with me-you- us all day, so now we-i-you have to put up with me. No one listens to us, Tommy. We aren’t Big Man. We never were. We’re… You’re a fucking kid, Tommy.”

Suddenly, he looked sad, and he choked out a laugh. “I was a kid. A dumb fucking kid. Kids are supposed to fuck around, right? Have fun? We never really had the chance to be a kid, huh?”

Tommy nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the other boy. “Life doesn’t wait, though. We had to keep up or get left behind.” Wilbur said that to him, back when the war started. He was right, of course. Wilbur was always right.

But Future Tommy was shaking his head, and chuckling. “No, Tommy. There’s a difference between being mature and fighting in a war. There’s a difference between helping your brother out around the house and letting him use you to overthrow a king. You’ve been trying to be a kid in between traumatic events, but let’s face it. It really doesn’t work.”

Tommy laughed a bit, the same dry laugh his future self had uttered earlier. “Ok, so what do we do?”

Future Tommy looked at him, and his eyes somehow got even darker. “I don’t know. God, Tommy, I really don’t know.”

Tommy never really got any secret tactics, but he did cry quite a bit for the first time in a while, and got his first hug in months.

\---

Wilbur had been excited for this. He’d always daydreamed of meeting his older self, once he’d become big and famous, and he was curious what he’d done with the country. Assuming they won the war, of course.

He wasn’t really sure where he was, but it didn’t look like a presidential office, or the camarvan. It looked like a tiny little concrete cell. Outside the door, the stench of sewer water was pungent, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Where was he?

His thought were disrupted by the door opening, and it was… him? It was hard to tell honestly. It certainly looked like him, from the strong jawline to the curly hair, but it wasn’t quite right. It’s skin was a faded grey, and it’s hair was a darker shade than his. It’s form was thinner, stretched almost, and it’s pale yellow sweater was draped on its shoulders like a tent. The rovyal blue stain spread across the front was the only real color, and even that was faded a bit. 

Wilbur stared at it for a bit longer, before it finally glanced up from the book it was holding. “Oh. Hello! I-I wasn’t… I wasn’t prepared for guests… Um…”

His voice was so similar to Wil’s, but it was… strained. It wasn’t as smooth as it was supposed to be, and he sounded not quite there. Distracted. He hadn’t even commented on the fact that there was a younger alive? version of him standing in his living room.

Finally, Wilbur- the real Wilbur, not the odd shadow looking back at him- spoke. “Hello. Uhm. I’m you, obviously, from a year ago. I’ve come to…” His voice faded out as he saw the shadow’s expression.

His eyebrows were scrunched together, his lips pressed into a line. He shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor. “You’re… you’re Wilbur? I-I-I don’t think I should be talking to you… Uh… You should- You should probably leave. Goodbye.”

He turned away, leaving Wilbur to stare at his back. “Wh- What? You’re Wilbur too, though.”

The shadow turned to him again, his eyes wide. “No. I’m Ghostbur. I haven’t been Wilbur for a long time.” 

Wilbur was still staring at him, but he couldn’t really see him anymore. Ghostbur… He had died. Of course he was going to die someday, but… not this soon. And he didn’t even want to know why Ghostbur didn’t want to talk to him. Instead, he heard himself speak, his voice quiet. “Can you help me?”

Ghostbur smiled a bit, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No… No, I don’t think so. I can’t- I can’t remember anything, but… whatever you’re trying to do, I-I-I don’t think… I don’t think it’s a good thing.”

Wilbur shook his head. “I’m trying to create L’Manberg.”

Ghostbur stood up a bit straighter. “Oh. Oh yeah… L’Manberg. I remember L’Manberg. Tommy liked L’Manberg… I wonder how Tommy’s doing… I haven’t… I haven’t seen him in a while…” He trailed off, before looking back up at Wilbur. “I’m sorry, what did you want again?”

Will looked at the timer on his wrist. Time was almost up. He didn’t really care though. He didn’t like it here, with the dead spirit of a version of himself. He hoped it wasn’t too late to change the future. Finally, he shook his head. “Wilbur-”

“Ghostbur. Wilbur was a bad man.”

“... right. I… I hope you have a good day, Ghostbur. Sorry I can’t help you.”

Ghostbur suddenly gasped, “Oh, I just- I just remembered…” He turned to grab a loaf of bread from his counter. “I-I baked this just this morning…” When he turned around, he was alone. He frowned a bit, but then he shrugged. Why was he holding this bread, again? 

\---

Tubbo knew what he’d find. He was probably going to be alone, with his bees and flowers, if they won. If they lost… he didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t really sure why he was doing this too, no one ever told him anything, and he highly doubted anyone had told future him anything either, but oh well. It was too late to back out now…

This wasn’t a field. He stood in a small office, lit only by the small desk light. A man sat at the table, writing something in a book. His head was down, and Tubbo couldn’t see his face, but the plaque on the desk said “Mr President”, so he figured he should have some respect. 

“Uhm, excuse me?” He said, trying his best not to startle the president. It didn’t work, as the man jumped, looking up.

That was no man. That was Tubbo. 

His skin was paler, and covered in a burn scar that looked like it spread from his stomach or chest (an explosion, maybe), and his hair was shorter and better combed (and didn’t have daisies or leaves tangled in it), and his eyes had a weird shine to them (were his pupils rectangle?), and he was wearing a suit (a suit????) but it was definitely him.

They stared at each other for a long long time, before Tubbo let out a laugh. “Holy shit, man, are we the president?”

The other Tubbo nodded, slowly, his eyes still on Tubbo.

Tubbo smiled at him as nicely as possible, and then politely started to look around the office, not taking anything in as his mind spun. Him? President? Why would he be president? Wilbur, Tommy, Fundy, hell even Eret were better suited for it. He was just a weird kid. Tommy’s friend. That’s it.

Suddenly, the President was talking. “You’re here for secrets, right? For the war?”

Tubbo smiled at him again. “Yeah, man! You have any?”

The President almost relaxed, sitting back in his chair. “No, not really… Nobody bothered telling me any tactics. Uh… Try to get the high ground… Oh! Punz has a notch apple, it’d be a good idea to get that from him.”

Tubbo nodded excitedly. “Ok, cool. Thank you!”

The President looked surprised almost, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. “Oh. Uh… yeah. No problem…”

Tubbo looked at him curiously. “People don’t thank you very much, do they? We should do something about that.”

The President laughed a bit, a nervous kind of chuckle that bubbled out of him, so much quieter than any of Tubbo’s laughs. “New law, you have to say thank you to the president, or he will cry.”

Tubbo laughed, too. “Holy shit, can you actually do that? Make that a law?”

The President looked off the side a bit as if considering it. “I’m pretty sure that’s do-able… I’m going to be honest with you, man, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Have we ever?”

There was a pause. The President looked so tired. Tubbo felt bad for him, but he was also… scared? He didn’t want to become this. A tired boy, sitting in an office, doing work for grownups. 

He shifted his weight awkwardly. “Um… Mist- uh. Tubbo?” The President looked up, nodding at him to continue. “Where are… where are the others? I mean, I’m assuming we won, but if we did, why am I… why are we president?”

The President seemed to mull it over, trying to decide what to say, before he spoke slowly. “Wilbur… he was for a while, but he wasn’t very good at it. Tommy had bigger priorities. Eret honestly never cared about… they decided they decided they never cared for elections. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure why Fundy isn’t president, but I offered him the position a while back and he said no, so…”

Tubbo nodded, then he asked the question they both knew was coming. “Are we ok?”

The President sighed, then stood. He walked around the desk to stand in front of Tubbo. He was so much taller, and his shoulders were broader. “Tubbo. I’m a 17 year old ruling a nation. My vice president is a half-enderman kid with memory issues. The only person who makes an effort to talk to me anymore is Dream. I have a fear of fireworks, and my best friend hates my guts.” He placed his hands on Tubbo’s shoulders. “I know this is going to sound dumb, but you need to believe me. We have it good.”

There was a pause, then Tubbo nodded again, this time slowly. “... And the others?”

The President’s hands fell to his sides again, and he looked at Tubbo with a different expression. Pity. “... Your potion’s going to run out soon.”

Tubbo looked at his timer. He was right. He looked back up at himself, seeing the slump of his shoulders, the bags under his eyes, and he hugged him.

The President hesitated, then hugged back. They stood there for a moment, before the smaller boy was gone, leaving the President alone. For the first time in a while, President Tubbo smiled a bit. He had it good, he thought, sitting back down.

\---

Fundy had no idea what he was looking at. He was supposed to meet himself, but that… That couldn’t be him. The fox in front of him was so much bigger, fur longer and shaggier, and it’s eyes glittered with something cruel. Its face and hands were riddled in tiny scars, and as it moved toward him, it walked with a limp, it’s tail dragging on the wood planks of the dock.

As it got closer, though, he started to recognize pieces of himself in it. The stupid cowlick that Wilbur was always teasing him for. The way he moved his fingers as if playing keyboard when he had nothing else to play with. The way his nose twitched when a breeze dusted past.

This was him, and he had no idea what to do about it.

The older Fundy stopped a few feet away, looking at him with those dark, dark eyes. For a moment, that’s all it was. The two foxes staring at each other, sizing each other up. 

Finally, the older one spoke. “I’d almost forgotten about that suit… is it as uncomfortable as I remember?” He spoke in English with so much more confidence, the words coming out with ease, although his accent was still there.

“Yeah. It’s not really…” Fundy picked at the sleeve of the crayon suit. “I really don’t know what I was thinking with this thing.”

Older Fundy barked out a laugh. Faintly, Fundy noticed the scars on his cheek looked like a glass bottle had been smashed on his face. What the hell had happened to him.

Older Fundy (Fucking hell, Fundy, come up with a more original nickname, you’re supposed to be the smart one) noticed him looking and reached up self consciously, before catching himself and adjusting his hat instead and clearing his throat. “So you’re here for secret tactics, right?”

Fundy shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, how did you know?”

Older Fundy (Scarface? Big F?) laughed again, shaking his head. “Maybe because I remember this conversation? Not very well, honestly, but I do remember that I ended up calling Older Fundy Floris, if you’re wondering.”

Fundy smiled at him, still nervous as hell, but a bit less so. “Oh. I was worried you could… like, read my mind.”

Olde- Floris smiled sadly at him. “Fundy, I’m still you. I’m not a kid anymore, but that’s it. One year for everyone else is four years for us, you know.”

Fundy shuddered a bit. “I know. Drawbacks of being half fox and all that. Still.” He looked up at the taller man. “It’s weird seeing yourself all grown up. I’m barely 16, man.”

Floris grinned. “And it’s pretty fucking wierd seeing yourself as a kid. I’m almost 21, I can’t imagine being so small.”

Fundy laughed with him, this time, shaking his head a bit, before his face got a bit sad. “Floris, I have to ask… What happened? I mean I’m glad I grow up to look like a fucking boss, but… You seem- we seem- different.”

Floris rubbed his chin, a habit that Fundy didn’t have yet, and squinted at the skyline. “I think… I think we got tired of being the little guy. We got sick of being Wilbur’s lil champion, and Tommy’s furry nephew, and Eret’s tiny friend. We grew a spine. No offence.”

Fundy frowned a bit. “We aren't… we weren’t villains, right?” 

Floris looked at him now, dark eyes boring into him. “No… no we weren’t. Not really. We were just smart.”

Fundy nodded a bit, before realising his vision had begun to fade. “Oh shit, I think I’m out of time.” 

Floris yipped a bit, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a little book, shoving it into Fundy’s hands.

“Read this. It will help with everything, I swear. Remind you things’ll be ok.” He pressed his forehead to the smaller fox’s. “It’ll be ok.” He repeated. 

Fundy sucked in a shaky breath. “It’ll be ok.”

\---

Eret knew there were two outcomes to this war. Either she revealed herself as the traitor, and the rebels won and she was tossed in prison, or, she revealed herself as the traitor, the rebels lost, and she became king of the SMP. 

She knew she was in too deep to back out now, if things were going to go poorly, she had no choice in the ending. It would be nice to know, though.

This wasn’t one of the outcomes though. Watching herself kneel in a garden, planting tulip bulbs, she had no real idea what to do.

They knew Eret was there. She could tell by the way they held their shoulders, holding their breath a bit. They want Eret to make the first move. 

Finally, she did. Her baritone voice broke the silence like a diamond sword through flesh. “Did we win?”

They stayed on the ground for a bit longer, gently settling a bulb in a hole, before standing up to face her. They weren't wearing their sunglasses, their eyes glowing softly in the autumn light. Their face was softer looking, and they had a bit of peach fuzz growing in. They wore a huge sweater over skinny jeans, and as she looked at her future self, she realised how comfy they looked.

They hadn’t said anything yet, letting her take in their appearance, so when they finally did speak, their voice almost made her jump. “Depends on what you mean by ‘we’.” 

She laughed a bit. “You know what I mean.”

They nodded solemnly. “I thought so. Technically, yes, we did, in the end.”

“Why are you here then?”

“I gave it up.”

The silence was deafening. She stared at themself, her eyes wide behind her sunglasses. “...Why?”

They smiled for the first time, and it was odd how comfortable they looked. They weren’t scared for their life for once.

“I found something worth more than a paper crown and a fancy title.”

She shook her head a bit, but she still had one last question, one that would mean everything in the end. 

“Do you regret betraying them?”

It was quiet again, the world holding its breath for the answer. 

“No.”

She nodded.

They spent the last few minutes in silence, them working on their garden, her watching. It was nice. She should really get into flowers.

\---

Dream was ecstatic when he opened his eyes to a throne room. He won. He knew the idiot rebels wouldn’t keep his throne, probably throwing it out with the rest of his kingdom. He let out a whoop, not caring who heard. 

“Hello, Clay.” He spun to search for the voice, finding its owner lounging against one of the columns. 

“Hey, Dream,” He smiled behind his mask. “Nice to see me.”

The other one kicked off the column, striding over to his past self. “Nice to see me too.”

Dream turned back to the throne, a grin still on his face. “We won, huh?” He reached out, running a hand over the familiar chair.

“No.”

He turned to look at himself. “...What?”

The other tilted his head. “We lose, Clay. First time for everything I guess. They don’t take over the kingdom though. They have, like, morals and shit.” He laughed, but it wasn’t real. “They leave the kingdom, make their dumb country. We keep the SMP. Eret was king for a bit, like we swore. The bastard couldn’t keep his mouth shut though. Decided he’d rather have the power of friendship than the power of an entire kingdom.”

Dream felt a shiver go down his spine, his eyes drifting between himself and the throne. Something was wrong. “It’s ours now, right?”

The other laughed again. “Oh, sure, technically. We’re the puppeteer. George is the puppet. Poor guy thinks he’s in charge.”

Dream’s head snapped to him, his eyes narrowing. “If you hurt him, I swear to God…”

The other leaned in, pulling off his mask to reveal a grin far too sharp, eyes far too bright. “Oh, Clay… I didn’t hurt him… YOU DID.”

Dream was the only out of the six who drank the potions to force himself back to the past, and the only one to really wonder if he was doing the right thing here. As his best friend in the world hugged him tight, pressing his head to his chest as he gulped in air, he thought for the first time that maybe, just maybe, he was the bad guy in this story.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment, i will love you forever, i swear.


End file.
